The SparrowChapter Two
by okamiwarrior
Summary: I started this fanfiction about five months ago after reading "To Kill a Mockingbird" in English class. I hope you enjoy! :D


**Chapter 2**

John and Ray walk across the street to the Sly Fox, a prominate jazz room in New York. John skims the room, finding it to be an ordinary sitting room. A young, perky hostess stands at the neon blue doors.

"Hello, how can you help you gentlemen today?" she asks, in a cheerful tone. Ray skims over her slim figure and smiles pleasantly.

"Hello Miss. I'm detective Raymond Stratford, and this is my partner John Collins. We are investigating the murder of Helen Bates and, word on the street is, this is her hangout. May we speak with the owner?" John stands behind Ray patiently, secretly wondering why he must say so much in an introduction, and then he notices him giving googly eyes to the young hostess. He finds that she is not really paying much attention to Ray, but is looking more towards John. _Oh great, a highly aspiring wannabe. _He thinks this silently to himself as she brings her attention back towards Ray.

"Yes, right this way. Perfect timing detectives, our jazz group is practicing for tonight's clubbers," she glances back at John. "I'm sure they wouldn't mind you listening for a while." Ray brightens at this statement, but John quickly shakes his head.

"No thank you miss, we have matters to attend to, thank you though." The hostess's shoulders sink slightly as she realizes she has no chance. But she quickly regains her hostess flair.

"Here he is, Mr. Carlyle you have visitors." John looks to see a macho, Caucasian, with sandy-brown hair. He glances up at the trio with stone grey eyes.

"Thank you Lisa," Mr. Carlyle waves his hand in a 'be gone' gesture, and she quickly disappears. He silently bids John and Ray to sit as he examines a stack of playing cards. As John sits he glances at several envelopes on the table, bearing the name Jeremy Carlyle. "You boys ever play blackjack?" John flicks his gaze upward, and leans back in his chair. Ray knows to let John take it from here, since he was never that good at asking questions. You could tell any white lie to Ray, and he would never pick it up.

"Enough small talk, I'm sure you know why we are here Jeremy," John says with an almost impatient air. Jeremy places his playing cards on the table, and folds his slender hands. John smiles at the question in his eyes.

"I don't recall my hostess mentioning my first name," he says plainly.

"Not many men leave their bills out in the open, yet there's a first for everything. Now if you wouldn't mind," John replies smoothly, gesturing to the bills as he speaks of them. Jeremy casually takes the bills and places them in his coat pocket.

"The Helen Bates murder right?" John nods in response. Jeremy sighs, irritably, and brushes his hand through his hair. "What do you want to know?" John removes his notepad from his pocket, and holds his pencil in hand.

"Well to start off was Miss. Bates a frequent customer?" a pause follows, and John's sharp eyes shift towards Jeremy.

"I'm the owner of this business, Detective, I'm too busy to know who comes in, and who goes out," Jeremy replies smugly, while leaning back in his chair. John puts his notepad on the table, and taps his pencil twice. He then sits back in his seat, crossing his arms, confidently.

"Really? I would think it your business to know who comes, and who goes, especially if it is a young girl such as Miss. Bates."

"Are you implying we had some sort of a relationship Detective?" Jeremy bolts upright, a certain flare entering his grey eyes. John sits up smoothly, and holds his pencil in his right hand. He looks at Jeremy with a neutral gaze.

"I'm not implying anything Mr. Carlyle, only trying to discover what happened last night, at precisely twelve AM." He lets the statement hang in the air for a moment, already seeing Jeremy's gears begin turning. "Since we are on the subject, did you have a relationship with Miss. Bates?"

"No." Jeremy replies plainly, but his eyes seem to wonder to the side. John raises an eyebrow, taking the movement into consideration.

"That seems unlikely. Miss. Bates was a beautiful woman, even I can admit that. She had the face of an angel, and beautiful golden hair. A very tempting specimen to our species don't you agree?" Jeremy glances at John, but doesn't reply. A slight smile plays at John's mouth, at the anticipation of his next question. "I wouldn't be surprised if you shared a bed with her." Jeremy flashes an angered gaze at John.

"I did nothing of the sort! You better watch your mouth detective, or I'll-"

"Or you'll what?" John watches as Jeremy sinks back into his chair. At seeing this, he leans in close, allowing him to speak in a low, yet audible, tone. "You can give me what I want, and I'll be sure not to beat the answers out of you. Agreed?" Jeremy nods nervously. "Now tell me, were you two in a relationship?" Jeremy nods, and John jots down his answer. "Were you, say, overprotective of her?"

"Yes, I guess. Several men looked at her, and I would ask one of our body guards to handle it." John's eyes shift upward.

"What body guard?"

"Henry Ross, he was my best one. He wasn't very smart, but brilliant in getting the message across."

"Did you ever ask him to do anything illegal?"

"No! Why would I? He only knew how to use his fists, never wanted to waste his time with a gun, let alone a C96," John stares at Jeremy calmly.

"One last question, can you retell the events from last night. Include everything, I know how late you stay open." John rests his right ankle on his left knee, preparing to copy down important points in his case notebook.

"Well, I was sitting here with Helen. She seemed a bit uneasy about something. I tried to find out what was wrong, but she wouldn't tell me. I kept trying to follow her gaze, but I saw no one of interest, so I figured it was her time of the month, or something. At about eleven fifty-five, she said she needed some fresh air," his hand travels to his cheek; "she gave me a kiss, and was gone. That's the last I saw of her." His grey eyes drift back down to his playing cards. John stares with great sympathy, and stands from his seat.

"Thank you Mr. Carlyle and I am sorry for your loss. If you need anything, I'm but a phone call away," John lays a card down in front of him, and turns to leave.

"All I need is that furry little bastard to be put behind bars," the statement rings in John's ears. He pauses as Ray walks on towards the exit. John turns his head just enough to look over his shoulder.

"Whom are you referring to Jeremy?" Jeremy stands from his seat, and looks John in the face from his perch across the room.

"That man who accused Henry! I saw him kill my girl," he says. John walks back over to Jeremy, and places his palms on the table. He stares at him from beneath the rim of his Fedora.

"Well that explains how you knew what weapon was used," Jeremy's eyes sink downward, seeing he had said too much. "Enlighten me further, please. What all did you really see?" John remains standing, deciding to use his height to its advantage. Jeremy exhales deeply, and then replaces his bum to its seat.

"Well, I followed her. She had only stepped outside, like she said she was going to do, but a man, of about my height, approached her. He was putting her hands all over her; she was trying to push her away. I was about to go stop him, but she turned running toward the alley. I had never seen her run so fast, and I felt so helpless. Henry tried to ask me whether or not I wanted him to go help her, then we heard this bang!" tears began streaming down Jeremy's thick, boned face. "Henry left… Oh God! I could've saved her…" Jeremy rests his elbows on the table, and his face rests on his palms. John's eyes sadden slightly, but he quickly regains his strong set gaze.

"Did you see Henry shoot her?" John asks. Jeremy simply raises his gaze from his palms, and narrows his stone eyes.

"No, he would never-"

"Did you **see** him shoot her?" John emphasizes on the sense in question. Jeremy stares thoughtfully, trying to remember. Then he shakes his head.

"No, I didn't see anybody shoot her. They were deep within the alley, but I know he didn't. Like I said, he would never shoot a gun. He's too dumb to know how to operate one, let alone one as complex as that C96." John narrows his eyes at Jeremy's statement.

"If you didn't see him shoot her, then how do you know what weapon he used?"

"I saw him chase her into the alley Detective. He was pulling out the weapon just before he entered the alley," Jeremy replies. John nods thoughtfully, and jots down his newly acquired information. "Do you think Henry did it Detective?" John looks up from his notebook, and shakes his head.

"Honestly, I think this is a classic framing. Don't worry; you'll have you'll bodyguard back in no time. Thank you for your time," John tips his hat to Jeremy, and turns to exit the Sly Fox. He pushes open the white rimed doors, and steps into the waiting room.

"Come on Lisa, I'm free tonight," Ray says smoothly. "We could take a walk beneath the moonlight, see a Broadway show perhaps?" John looks to see Ray hitting on the hostess, whom looks disgusted. John rolls his eyes, and grabs Ray's shirt collar roughly.

"She's obviously not into you Ray, let's go," John drags Ray out of the jazz room.

"Good day detectives," Lisa says, as the pair of them closes the doors behind them. Several cars zoom past the Sly Fox on the New York road. John looks to see the policemen wrapping up the crime scene, already on their way back to the police department.

"Come on John, you know she was into me! You're just jealous!" Ray says, clearly annoyed. John groans, shaking his head, while jogging across the street to his Buick.

"I could care less Ray; we have more important matters to attend to. Like, I don't know, put the real criminal behind bars!" he exclaims while placing himself behind the wheel. Ray flicks his hands upward in a dramatic gesture, and then sits in the passenger seat.

"So you don't think Henry did it?" Ray asks as John begins driving along the street, towards the train station. Ray waits patiently for John's reply, curious as to what he will say.

"No, I don't think he did. I think he tried to stop it."

"Where are you going, the police department is that-a-way!" Ray shifts in his seat, and turns towards the opposite direction. John turns into the train station parking lot, and parks the car. He doesn't pull the keys out of the ignition, but turns to look at Ray.

"You're right Ray, but I have somewhere that I need to go. Someone to see…" Ray looks at John with a questioning gaze, his baby blue eyes shining with curiosity. "I'm heading down to Alabama for a couple of days. A friend of mine had a very similar case, and I require his advice on the matter. I will need you to keep watch over my car, and Russet," John says.

"John! You know that dog hates me!" John stares at Raymond with a raised eyebrow. Ray's shoulders sink, as he exhales heavily. "Fine… At least I get to drive this baby," he says a new excitement entering his voice. Moments later a shrill whistle fills the air, causing John to step out of his car. Ray follows in pursuit as John pops the trunk to grab his suitcase.

"While I am gone, gather as much evidence as you can. Try not to be gullible," John closes the trunk to look his partner in the eye, and then smiles casually. As he turns Ray removes John's Fedora from his head. John turns once more, but this time is greeted by a childish grin. John narrows his eyes slightly, and cross his arms.

"I know, I know," Ray clears his throat, and places John's Fedora on his own head. "Rule number one, no touching my Fedora!" Ray chuckles as John takes back his prized possession. "I swear you ought to marry that thing!" John smirks slightly as he turns back towards the train station. As he turns he replaces his hat to conceal his slicked back, black hair.

"I already have," Ray laughs as John begins walking towards his train. A couple of minutes later John finds himself stepping onto his assigned car. The train begins moving as he glances about the car. Thankfully not many passengers took refuge here. John had never been one for people, even as a boy he tended to be a loner. With a contented sigh, he takes his place on a red cushioned seat, and places his suitcase on the ground next to his foot. The people around him seemed quite happy with themselves, occasionally exchanging a word, or two, with their neighbor. Nobody seemed to be acknowledging him, which is how he liked it. In one swift movement, he removes a newspaper from his jacket pocket.

"Oh, there's nothing of interest in there," a clear, feminine voice echoes in his ears as he raises the newspaper to hide his face. He knows exactly to whom the voice belongs, and wishes not to see her. His eyes begin to water from behind the newspaper, but he holds back the tears.

"Says who?"

"You know very well who Mr. Collins," the owner to the voice takes her place at John's side. John's eyes skim across the words imprinted on the newspaper, refusing to look at his neighbor.

"And here I thought this train ride would be peaceful and… quiet," John replies, still looking at the newspaper. An irritated sigh sounds to John's right, followed by a slender hand removing the paper from his grasp. John groans while sliding his hand down his face. "Alice, what do you want?" a chuckle flows into his range of hearing.

"Why must you always think that I **want** something from **you**? I'm a big girl John, I swear you're no fun anymore," Alice's hand drops onto John's shoulder, and slides down his chest. A look of disgust crosses his expressions as he casually pushes her hand away.

"I grew up, realized where my values truly lie," he replies thickly.

"Shame John, really. Well at least you still sing," John's hazel eyes cast towards Alice's fair, slender face. His right eyebrow rises slightly, as he stares into her dark green eyes. Alice looks away, her long, slender fingers curving around the edge of the newspaper. "You have really gone downhill haven't you? Lighten-"

"Lighten up? Lighten up? You want me to lighten up?" John's eyes flash with fury, and Alice meets him with an equally defiant gaze. John softens his gaze, slightly, as he turns his face towards the window. Images of the country side blur past him, as he leans his forehead against the window.

"John, don't do this to yourself. It's not your fault," Alice's hand moves to rest on his shoulder, as a gesture of comfort. John neither moves to, or away from her senseless attempt.

"Alice, leave me, and go back to wherever the hell you came from," John says this so calmly, that it sends a certain chill up your spine. Alice opens her mouth to reply, but quickly closes it, realizing she had stepped into dangerous waters. Moments later the sound of the car door closing sounds, and John leans over in his seat, with his face resting in his palms. He sobs slightly, but cries quietly, like he has done for three years.


End file.
